Moblit did not answer immediately.
Instead, he glanced at Buffon, who stood quietly at the side.
Only after receiving a subtle nod did he speak.
"We have compiled the list of decommissioned and damaged equipment from the Survey Corps. Please take a look."
Lock accepted the document with some confusion.
Blades.
Horseshoes.
Titan anchors.
Omni-Directional Mobility Gear components.
Lock's mouth slowly fell open.
Actual military equipment?
Was his family truly operating at this level?
Moblit, unaware of his reaction, continued according to Hange's prior instructions.
"Our Commander hopes that the purchase price this time can be increased by thirty per cent compared to the last transaction."
Lock blinked.
"Wait. I thought the Corps strictly forbadethe private sale of military equipment? Even if damaged beyond repair, shouldn't everything be handed over to headquarters?"
"And isn't the Corps required to record the usage and whereabouts of all issued equipment?"
"Is this… really acceptable?"
Moblit looked slightly embarrassed.
Buffon stepped in smoothly.
"It concerns only the Survey Corps. The records at headquarters remain intact."
What does that mean, intact?
If something goes wrong, can the Leon crest block a bullet?
Wait.
Only the Survey Corps?
Ah.
That explained it.
Titans could account for a great many losses.
Commander Erwin… you truly are bold.
Lowering the booklet, Lock leaned toward Buffon and whispered, "Uncle, what exactly does our family do with this scrap?"
Buffon bent slightly and replied in an equally low voice.
"It is all iron."
Understanding dawned immediately.
Within the Walls, iron ore was scarce.
Most iron production was prioritised for the military. Civilian usage was tightly restricted except for essential tools.
It was not uncommon for upper-middle-class households to own more silver than iron.
Scrap iron from damaged military equipment—melted and reforged—was no small resource.
Lock looked back at Moblit and smiled sincerely.
"No problem. We accept the proposed price. The Leon family is happy to continue cooperating with the Survey Corps."
Moblit, who had clearly prepared himself for negotiation or rejection, could not hide his surprise.
"Thank you very much for your support."
Lock stood and offered his hand.
"Please convey my regards to Commander Erwin. If the Survey Corps has further needs, the Leon family is willing to assist."
"Of course. Certainly."
…
"He agreed to their first offer?"
Ash sat on the second-floor balcony, basking in the afternoon sunlight. Upon hearing Buffon's report, irritation flared across his face.
"Hmph. That boy truly does have a particular fondness for the Survey Corps."
Buffon responded gently, "However, in his dealings with the others today, the Young Master conducted himself quite appropriately."
Ash's expression eased slightly.
Then he seemed to recall something.
"What was it he asked you to arrange?"
Buffon gave a faint, awkward smile.
"The Young Master requested a full set of Omni-Directional Mobility Gear and related training equipment. He said he intends to join the Cadet Corps and wishes to adapt in advance."
"He has some nerve."
"The moment he learns we can obtain scrap iron from the Survey Corps, he immediately asks for this."
"If you had refused, he would likely have gone to the Underground to find black-market dealers."
Buffon remained silent, allowing Ash to vent.
After a moment, Ash spoke in a lower voice.
"Prepare the set for him."
"Obtain the necessary permit from Divisional Commander Nile Dawk of the Military Police Brigade."
…
Lock was practising riding at the estate stables.
Fortunately, the former Lock had received systematic instruction for years. The body retained its muscle memory.
At first, he felt slightly unfamiliar.
Soon, it smoothed out.
After several laps, he patted the black horse's flank and let it roam freely.
Watching it gallop away, thoughts surfaced in his mind.
Raising horses—especially warhorses—had always been a burden on agrarian societies.
They consumed enormous quantities of feed.
They required quality grain.
They demanded training, equipment, and handlers.
A fine warhorse required multiple attendants.
Pastureland took up precious agricultural space.
Within the Walls, it was not only Titans that consumed people's lives.
Horses did as well.
And yet they were indispensable.
The Royal Government would rather send refugees to die than reduce cavalry numbers.
Why?
Because no human could outrun a Titan.
But a horse could.
Lock exhaled slowly.
Governing such a confined world was no easy task.
Of course—that assumed the true royal authority still existed.
Without a figure capable of holding everything together, no one could sit securely atop such instability.
"Young Master."
Elise approached as he dismounted, offering a bowl of chilled spring water.
"Thank you."
He drained it in one breath.
She took the empty bowl but did not leave immediately.
After a long hesitation, she spoke.
"Young Master… are you truly going to join the Cadet Corps?"
He glanced at her.
"You've heard?"
"The servants are discussing it."
Her head lowered, shoulders drawn slightly inward.
Seeing her expression, Lock explained more gently than before.
"It's only for three years. I'll return after graduation."
Elise gripped her skirt tightly.
Her voice lost its usual composure.
"Then… may I go with you?"
Another headache formed.
"That's the military. Have you ever seen someone enlist and bring a maid?"
"Do you want me to become a laughingstock?"
Rebuked, she replied softly but stubbornly.
"Young Master… you don't even know how to fold a quilt."
"You don't know how to wash clothes."
"The food in the military is terrible."
"The dormitories are uncomfortable."
She looked up seriously.
"I am worried you'll run back within two days. That would be the real embarrassment."
This girl…
Sharp-tongued.
Lock knew he was not as helpless as she implied. Years of training had hardened him against discomfort.
But the food…
Because of Sasha, he clearly remembered that meat was rare within the Corps.
How could someone training intensely go without proper nutrition?
And the next three years were critical for physical development.
He needed adequate food.
He nodded to himself.
"I'll speak with Father."
…
"What? You want me to send money to those military hooligans?"
Ash reclined comfortably as Shali massaged his legs. Hearing his son's request, his temper rose again.
"Did you not give away enough this morning?"
Lock sighed.
"It's for better rations. Your son still needs to grow."
Ash eyed his height thoughtfully.
That part, at least, made sense.
"Forget sending money. However much you send, someone will pocket it."
He waved dismissively.
"I will have Elise deliver fresh fruits, vegetables, meat, eggs, and milk to the training grounds each month. You will receive them personally."
"Then give a small gratuity to the base cook and have him prepare separate meals for you."
Lock blinked.
That solution… was efficient.
Feudal privilege, once again.
---
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